


a feeling that I belonged

by peridium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e04 Baby, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridium/pseuds/peridium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This car. She helps." Cas smiles, beatific and weirdly lovely with the single fluorescent light illuminating his face from above and the shadows cast by his eyelashes. "She loves you," he says, "and so we understand each other." (11.04 coda.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a feeling that I belonged

**Author's Note:**

> What an uncommonly wonderful episode, right? My obsession with the Impala being partially sentient rears its head again. You know it would love Cas, and he would love it back.
> 
> Title from Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car." I'm over on Tumblr at [sunbeamdean](http://sunbeamdean.tumblr.com).

Dean can't sleep. That's normal. Worse than that, he can't find Cas, which is the whole reason he can't sleep. That's pretty normal too, but it doesn't mean he has to like it.

It's this thing he does-- used to do, finds himself picking it back up now. Before the Mark burrowed deep in him, when the bunker was new and freshly theirs. He'd walk the halls at night, listening to the building settling and touching the walls, the furniture, everything that had welcomed them in. He'd put an ear to Sam's door and smile, do the same for Kevin.

Now, wanting to do the same for Cas, he's come up short on the fact that he can't freaking find the guy.

The kitchen's empty, strewn with remnants of their welcome-home meal. Cas had eaten with them, taking polite bites of Dean's bare-bones chicken and pasta. He'd examined the tines of his fork with each morsel like there was something fascinating there, shooting Dean blink-and-you'll-miss-it smiles when their eyes met.

God, Dean turns into a freak around Cas. His heart'd done all these dumb little flips when Cas held his face and closed his eyes and, with a whisper of cool grace, soothed the bruises and lacerations of the case and, under that, of their spell-induced fistfight. Cas' thumbs had brushed Dean's earlobes and the soft, warm skin against his own skin had made all his veins and arteries run hot.

No one in the laundry room either, but Dean counts Cas' sloppily-folded dress shirt as evidence. His tie's coiled on top of it, his slacks in a pile on the floor. Right next to one of the laundry baskets.

"Thoughtless son of a bitch," Dean murmurs without irritation.

Baby's gonna need some work after their last case. If he can't take care of Cas and if he can't calm the rush of panic in the back of his head thanks to that, he might as take care of his wheels.

The garage is cold, but the Impala's always warm when he touches her. "Hey, kid," Dean says, wiping some grime off her poor dislocated bumper with the pad of his thumb.

"Hello, Dean," the car rumbles.

Dean's heart is halfway to Albuquerque before logic kicks back in. "Holy shit," he hisses, "I've been looking everywhere for you and you're out here waiting to scare me out of my damn skin?"

Cas blinks from where he's curled around himself, leaning against the side of the car down by one of her front tires. "Everywhere? That seems unlikely."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says irritably, "you think you're real funny. Is that my shirt?"

Cas looks down, plucking thin dark-gray cotton off his stomach. There was probably a logo on there once. "Yeah," Cas says, as if this is normal. "And your pants. Sam said you wouldn't mind."

Jesus, he's right. Those are Dean's pajama pants, old ones that always fell off his hips if he tried to do anything other than sleep in them. They look good on Cas, who's wider than he is.

Dean swallows thickly. "You okay? This ain't exactly the comfiest place to get some R&R."

"Yeah," Cas says again. He tips his chin up, squinting at Dean, and then splays his fingers against the side of the car. "I'm healing."

"Out here?" Dean crouches so his face is on Cas' level. It might've been a mistake, because Cas is smiling and Dean wobbles, has to catch himself with his hand on the Impala just brushing Cas'. Fuck.

"Here." Cas slides his hand to cover Dean's wrist, long fingers curling against bones and skin. "Come. Sit."

Cas isn't a small dude, nor is he helpless. He's got broad shoulders, huge hands, and the power in him to knock out cities with a couple of well-placed thoughts. It's just the circles under his eyes, his knees drawn up to his chest, the naked hope of his expression, and Dean's caught hook, line, and sinker. He sits.

"I'm healing," Cas repeats. His eyes shut and he turns so his cheek presses to the Impala's paint. "This car. She helps."

 _You said she_ , Dean wants to point out, fondness buoyed in his chest. "Yeah? How come? She could use some healing herself."

Cas smiles, beatific and weirdly lovely with the single fluorescent light illuminating his face from above and the shadows cast by his eyelashes. "She loves you," he says, "and so we understand each other."

"Cas--"

Dean's pulse kicks up and up some more, but Cas is unfazed. He could be talking about the weather. "This car has a soul, of a kind," he says. "Not human, but certainly not mechanical either. Her energy feels much like the way your soul felt against my grace when I pulled you from Hell. Fierce, righteous, good, and soothing."

Dean swallows harder. His tongue's too big for his mouth and the place where the Mark used to sit itches.

"Yeah," he says after a too-long pause. "Yeah, she takes care of her own."

Cas opens his eyes and smiles. Just the corners of his mouth quirking up, all his attention on Dean. Their knees knock together awkwardly as Dean shifts closer, drawn by the pink sheen of Cas' mouth and the Impala's chrome reflected in Cas' wide and dark pupils.

"That includes you," Dean says. To be sure. To be fucking positive Cas gets it, that Cas knows he has a place here. In Dean's home, in Dean's car, in whatever else of Dean's he wants.

Cas' tongue darts out, moistens his lips. He's looking way better already, color high at the arches of his cheekbones and his hair unruly but clean.

"Come on," Dean says, scattering the moment and not even sorry. He knows what Cas needs. He knows what they both need. He clambers to his feet and opens the back door, gestures widely. "After you."

Baby welcomes them, worn leather that smells like home making space for the two of them. They shouldn't fit, probably, but they do, because the Impala's always got Dean's back. Cas is solid and still smiling and he gets in easily after Dean, lets Dean tangle their hands and their legs until they're stretched out next to each other with their noses bumping and the light coming through the windows in patches.

"Yeah," Cas breathes, one more time. "Yeah, this feels good."

This, Dean's pretty sure, is what he was missing. Comfiest bed in the world and he wasn't gonna fall asleep without Cas' breath puffing against his jaw, the clean-laundry smell of the place where Cas' neck meets his shoulder.

In the morning, he's gonna kiss Cas. His breath's gonna be crappy and all his muscles are gonna ache and he's gonna be scared as hell, so scared he's gonna second-guess himself for the millionth time. But he's gonna do it. And Cas? Cas, who's hiding a fresh smile in Dean's chest, who's got his fingers tucked neatly around the back of Dean's thigh?

Yeah, Dean's pretty positive Cas'll kiss him back.


End file.
